


A Treatise on the Wedding Traditions of Gelfling, with Notes on What Skeksis Do and Do Not Do

by theorangewitch



Category: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangewitch/pseuds/theorangewitch
Summary: “Are you asking me to marry you?” skekGra asked. He could hardly believe it.





	A Treatise on the Wedding Traditions of Gelfling, with Notes on What Skeksis Do and Do Not Do

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't incorporate the pauses into urGoh's speech, because he speaks a lot in this and I didn't want the text to get bogged down by ellipses. Imagine they're there, though!

It had never been in skekGra’s nature to be silent or still. In truth, it probably wasn’t in  _ any  _ of the Skeksis’ natures to be either one either. They were creatures of constant vibration, always moving, always twitching, unable to speak quietly or move with gentleness or grace. 

UrGoh was something else entirely. His voice rumbled so softly that it was more like tremors than sound, and when he deigned to move it was with such  _ purpose _ , the likes of which skekGra had never seen before. His slowness still frustrated skekGra, often to no end, but they were both old. Hundreds of trine old, generations older than almost any other creature on Thra. And in his old age skekGra found that there were moments where he enjoyed just sitting with his—with his—with urGoh and doing not much of anything. 

They’d been singing. The Urru loved to sing, and the Skeksis liked music well enough, so it had been a good starting point for finding common ground between them. Of course, the Skeksis and the Urru were nothing  _ but  _ common ground, it was just that neither really wanted to see that. Seeing urGoh for the first time since their split had felt so natural that it was  _ unnatural _ . SkekGra had become so used to the rawness that hung in his heart like an open wound that encountering any sort of balm for that feeling had frightened him. He’d run away upon seeing urGoh, and the Conqueror ran from nothing, feared nothing. Or so he’d previously thought. 

But then, of course, he’d returned, again and again, until he was almost addicted to the feeling of being close to urGoh, the soothing nature of being as intertwined with one another as they could without actually rejoining. 

They’d been singing, and when they’d stopped, skekGra’s throat raw with dry desert air, urGoh had said, “Sit with me.” It wasn’t an order, just a gentle request. Skeksis did not make requests. The Emperor and whoever his current favorite was gave orders, and the others asked for favors, to be cashed in at a later date. They didn’t ask for things with the possibility of being refused in mind. 

SkekGra knew he could refuse. Move on from their singing and attend to other things. Sweep the sand out of the foyer, tend the garden, cook dinner, repaint some of the walls, or any of the other endless chores that the other Skeksis would have balked at doing. Skeksis didn’t do  _ chores _ , that was what Podlings were for. But there were no Podlings in the Crystal Desert.

But skekGra didn’t refuse urGoh’s request. Instead, he took a seat next to him. After a long silence—perhaps one that lasted hours—urGoh said, “How much do you know of the Gelfling?”

SkekGra scoffed. “I lived with Gelfling in the Castle for hundreds of trine. I know them as well as I know the Skeksis.”

“Not very well then,” urGoh hummed. 

“Don’t give me that,” skekGra snapped. “Just say what you were going to say.”

“Do you know about their concept of marriage?”

“Of course I know about marriage! We all drew straws to see who would have to attend the various All-Maudras’ weddings. I was out on campaigns most of the time and so I was usually exempt, but—“

“The Gelfling are fond of ritual, aren’t they? Just like the Skeksis?”

SkekGra’s eye twitched. “Stop phrasing your statements as questions and say what you have to say!”

“Listen then, Heretic.” When the other Skeksis had branded him Heretic, they’d meant to make him outcast, criminal, monster to be shunned by Skeksis and Gelfling alike. But when urGoh called him Heretic, it sounded almost like a term of endearment. “Promise to listen,” urGoh repeated. “This is important.” 

SkekGra pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and then said, “I promise.” Skeksis rarely made promises, and never ever kept them. 

“I have been reading,” urGoh continued. It was true: the glacial pace at which urGoh spoke often frustrated skekGra. But it did not frustrate him all the time. It only frustrated him when he knew what urGoh was going to say, which as they lived together longer and longer, became more and more common. But he didn’t know what urGoh was going to say now. So he listened with bated breath.

“I have been reading,” urGoh said, “of Gelfling conjugal traditions. The ceremonies by which they proclaim love. All seven clans do it differently. The Vapra have a tradition called the Rites of Conjunction, which often take place over days or weeks. There are four steps, and only when those four steps are complete can the wedding take place. The Spriton will plant a tree together, symbolizing a long, healthy, and vibrant relationship. One that will continue to grow even long after the wedding. A Dousan couple will wander out into the desert. Just the two of them, for a few days. They carry what happens during that time as secrets to the grave. On the other hand, a Sifan wedding is an affair for many people, involving whole ships of Gelfling singing traditional songs and dancing traditional dances. I am especially fond of the Drenchen custom—the couple will make beads out of wood and clay. Each bead represents a moment in their lives together. Then at the ceremony they will string them into a necklace and wind that necklace around their wrists. The Grottan, small clan that they are, have a simple ritual, of professions of love in a symbolic place. And lastly, the Stonewood give gifts. Usually, each will forge a weapon for the other, but other forms of craftsmanship or skill are acceptable: knitted clothing, a pelt, a tool. The gifts are presented at the ceremony, and the newlyweds will keep them always.”

“Is there a point to all this?” skekGra asked gently. Sometimes there was and sometimes there wasn’t with urGoh’s anecdotes, as few and far between as they were. Sometimes he was leading up to something, and sometimes he just had some piece of Thra’s history or culture to share. It didn’t really matter in the end; the Skeksis cared little for history or culture and it was a breath of fresh air to be with someone who so clearly cared so much for both.

“I made these. For you,” urGoh said, pulling something out of the folds of his robes. They were gloves, little red gloves without fingers that were the perfect size for skekGra’s bony hands. “I was trying to decide what tradition I wanted to follow. If I would follow one at all. You have no patience for extended rites. We have no materials for beads. The soil here isn’t right for growing a tree. There is no point in us going off by ourselves, because we are already alone together, and we don’t have any traditional songs or dances. So: a gift. In the tradition of the Stonewood Gelfling. Their gifts are never without use, and you complain about your hands being cold at night.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” skekGra asked. He could hardly believe it. 

“I am.” UrGoh paused. “At Vapran weddings, funerals, and births, there is a prayer they will sometimes say:  _ ‘May the light of Thra smile upon us and guide us through bliss and strife, until all are one.’ _ ” 

“Until all are one,” skekGra repeated. He mulled it over for a moment. The phrase felt familiar somehow, though he’d never heard it before. It touched him somewhere deep and deeply personal. The way the other Skeksis had spoken of Gelfling weddings and funerals had been with scorn. They’d been frivolous at best and pitiful at worst, a useless tactic for making sense of their short and toil-filled existences. But hearing about their weddings...their existences were joyous, too. Filled with dancing and gifts and time spent with loved ones. Skeksis had no loved ones. Well, most Skeksis didn’t. But skekGra did. “You forgot something.”

“What’s that?” urGoh asked. 

“The Grottan tradition can be replicated. Professions of love in a symbolic place.”

“We have no symbolic places.”

“Then what would you call the Circle of the Suns?” 

UrGoh smiled. “Fair point.” 

SkekGra looked down at his hands. “You said that the Stonewood gift giving is mutual. I have no gifts for you.”

“You here is gift enough.” 

“I can say that I do love you, though,” skekGra continued. “With everything I have and more.” Skeksis did not love. They wanted, oh they wanted so badly. Wanted what they had and what they did not have. Wanted more than any other being in the universe. They wanted and craved and desired and envied, but they did not love. Perhaps it was love that the Skeksis had wanted all along, because once skekGra had it he didn’t want or desire or crave or envy so much anymore. “Do you remember what you said to me when we met?” 

“Yes,” urGoh replied. It had been after skekGra’s third vision, the third time he’d seen urGoh since their split, and the first he’d had the courage to come out and face him. “I said, ‘I am only you. Why are you afraid of you?’”

“You were wrong. You’re not me; I’m me. And you’re you, and when we’re together we’re infinitely more than the sum of our parts.”

UrGoh smiled. “I love you as well. I love you as we loved ourself as GraGoh, or more. I love you enough for two or three of us. For four or six of me.” Then he reached out. “Here. Put the gloves on. Night draws close.” 

SkekGra let urGoh wriggle the gloves around his fingers, trying not to let them catch on his claws and tear. They fit perfectly, and they were warm. “I’ve been wondering what I should call you, lately, should others ever ask what we are to each other. ‘Counterpart’ seems impersonal, ‘partner’ too vague, ‘friend’ not entirely accurate. But thinking about it now, ‘husband’ seems perfect.”

“Are we married, Gra?” urGoh asked. 

“If you would like to be.” 

UrGoh snuggled his nose into skekGra’s neck, clutching their hands together between them. “More than anything.” 


End file.
